


someone else's happiness

by peatreck



Category: Goon (2011)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, Kneeling, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Shame, all of the sex is a fantasy, dom/sub dynamics, i have no idea what to tag this, i think? because of the weird dude bro sports culture??, ignores whatever the plot of goon 2 is, kind of, most of this is kind of guilty fantasizing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 07:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11203158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peatreck/pseuds/peatreck
Summary: He thinks about it, what it would be like to be claimed, to be owned, to be Doug’s.





	someone else's happiness

**Author's Note:**

> although this isn't my first porn posted, this is actually the first thing i ever wrote and this was writing the porn i desperately wanted to see in the world and so uh yeah if you have any idea what to tag this please leave a comment! betaed by daysanddsaysanddays

Doug likes to protect people.

Xavier needs to be protected.

That's always been the way of things, between them.

***

It starts – it starts earlier, really, the first time an opponent avoids a hit on LeFlemme because Doug the Thug is watching them. It starts when he begins to trust that he can play, that he can breathe and move again in the only place he's ever felt like he's good enough without being scared that it will all be taken away.

It might start earlier for Dougie. Xavier doesn't know. Hell, it could have started as soon as he first met Xavier, so fucking small and sad and dirty. But the first time Xavier became aware of it was after Doug broke himself and bled so Xavier didn't have to, after he defeated the monster that haunted his very real nightmares.

He was on fire that night, above the world, no one could touch him. Four goals, and under the euphoria of the ice under his skates and the rush of winning and right was Doug, all for you, Dougie, Doug, for you, good for you -

He jerked off on it after the game in the bathroom after press and showering and all of it, still riding the high of the win and Doug, defending him with his body and blood and fists. He pictured Doug holding him down, using his strength and power to hold him still, claiming him, refusing to share him with anyone else, and he comes, gasping, all over his own hand alone in a bathroom stall. That's when he realizes it. He realizes it, but it doesn't seem to matter, like he's in a dream where he can have it all.

Then he visits Doug in the hospital and watches as he gropes groggily for Eva's hand, drugged and loopy with it, telling her slowly and carefully that she's pretty and nice and her name sounds nice. Really nice. Did he tell her that already? And she's laughing with tear stained eyes and looking at him like he can move mountains.

Xavier hangs back, can almost feel reality threatening to break into whatever weird headspace he’s in right now. But Doug catches sight of Xavier and smiles, like fucking sunshine and drugged puppies, and tells him that they won the game, and that Xavier had gotten four points, and that he'd been “so good, you're, like sooo good, buddy.” 

Then he turns back to Eva, and says “He's so good. He's the best. He's on my team did you know that? You probably already knew that, you were at the game. He's my roommate too. Did you know he got four whole goals?” She laughs and says she does know, and she smiles at him and he smiles at her and –

That is when reality comes crashing in, and Xavier LeFlemme realizes that he is really and truly fucked.

***

He thinks about it, what it would be like to be claimed, to be owned, to be Doug’s.

He thinks about it late that night, in their shitty apartment, before Doug comes back from the hospital. He's never been very good at impulse control, or wanting the right thing. He thinks about it later too, in shitty hotel rooms without Doug because he's healing at the apartment with Eva, in their apartment when Doug is over at Eva’s (at least they haven't moved in together yet), in idle moments in public, sometimes, on the ice when he hasn't done as well as he knows he can.

That's what he thinks about. It's a fantasy, really. Doug would never want him like that.

He imagines getting down on his knees for Doug. Sometimes he even pushes his own fingers into his mouth, imagining Doug letting him suck his dick. Doug would be sitting on the couch in the living room, dressed but for his unzipped fly, bracketing Xavier in with his knees where he sits between his legs. He wouldn't be wearing a jacket, just one of the soft long sleeved shirts he seems to has a lot of. He'd tell Xavier how good he was, doing this for him, but Xavier would probably be pretty bad at it at first. He's never actually… never actually sucked dick, no matter what they said at the rink, no matter that he'd thought about it once or twice. Doug would have to tell him how to do better, and he'd be soft, encouraging. Maybe—maybe he'd put a hand in Xavier's hair, to guide him.

Maybe he'd pull or push just a little too hard one time, and Xavier would make a noise, his mouth around Doug’s dick, and go slack, his entire body relaxed, only held up by Doug’s hand in his hair. Little pinpricks of pain in his hair, just at the edges. 

Doug would ask him, would say, “Is this what you want, buddy? You want me to… to fuck your face?” And Xavier would probably whine at that, sounding needier than he's been even through all the rest of it.

And Doug would, if that's what Xavier wanted. He would tangle his hand in Xavier’s hair more surely and push and pull his head gently but firmly up and down his dick so Xavier could close his eyes and let himself be used, never more than Xavier could handle because his strength is soft like that, trustworthy.

He always takes good care of his things.

Eventually he'd come, and maybe he'd – maybe he'd pull Xavier off first and tell him to close his eyes and come all over his face, marking him. Maybe he'd smile and reach down, ruffle Xavier's hair or rub his come gently into Xavier's cheekbone and say, “You did good, buddy,” before getting up to do something else, make food or call his gay brother or something, leaving Xavier to stumble away and get himself off in his room. Xavier might not even make it to the bed, might shove his sweatpants down over his thighs, pull himself out just as he got through the doorway, might fall to his knees again and run his hand over his face, feeling that it's there. He might lean over until his forehead touched the floor, running his fingers through the evidence that Doug wanted him, that Doug had him, jerking off all the while, quickly, desperately. He always moans too loudly when he comes, and he would come all over the dirty carpet, and Doug would hear, Doug would know--

Or maybe Doug would pull off just enough that he could come in Xavier's mouth instead, leave himself somewhere not as easy to wash off, where Xavier will have to taste it, take it, swallow him down. He's tasted his own come before, out of curiosity, but knowing that it was Doug's, knowing how it got in his mouth, on his tongue would make it so much better.

And maybe, after – 

maybe, because his brother’s gay, he'd let Xavier stay. He'd stay with Xavier. Xavier could stay down on his knees, rut into his foot, fists clenched on his thighs. Or, no, rub himself through his pants while Doug ran a hand through his hair, maybe he'd let Xavier pant into his thigh until he brought himself off, sticky in his pants.

And if he was okay with all that, maybe he'd let Xavier just – stay. On his knees, leaning against Doug’s leg. Doug’s big hand running idly through his hair as he watched tv. Doug on his tongue, under his cheek, in his hair. Doug having him, completely.

***

He still pulls girls sometimes, but less often. He gets a mediocre blowjob on that very couch, and comes when he closes his eyes and pictures himself as the one on his knees.

He's been getting a lot of blowjobs, lately. He tells himself it has nothing to do with anything. He tells himself to shut the fuck up.

Doug notices.

“You've been bringing girls home less lately,” Doug says, one day when he isn't with Eva. She's doing- something. Someone? Xavier doesn't know if he wants her to be cheating on Doug or not.

“Eh, I have hockey, you know?” he says. And that’s stupid, he's always had—well no. Doug had given it back to him when he lost it, hadn't he.

“You're a hockey player,” says Doug, “you've always had hockey.”

Xavier laughs, just once. “Maybe I am growing out of it. All the girls will be disappointed no?”

“I'm glad,” says Doug. Xavier looks, because he has to look now, can't keep looking away. Doug is sitting on the motherfucking couch and smiling softly. He's wearing a jacket and his ankle brace is big and black. “I didn't think it was very good for you.”

Xavier looks away again, has to. “I. I stopped the drugs too,” and it's true, he'd used up the last of his shit and couldn't be fucked to get any more. His eyes skitter helplessly back to Doug as soon as he's said it.

Doug’s smiling, his face open and earnest. “That's really good, buddy, my brother’s a doctor, and…” He keeps going, about how good it is that Xavier's stopped getting high. Xavier notices, but only in the back of his mind. 

In his excitement about Xavier's new, drug free life, Doug had leaned forward, resettled himself at the front of the couch. His legs are slightly open. Xavier could – he could take two steps forward, fall to his knees between Doug's legs, could reach for his fly with trembling hands. Doug would grab his wrist, would ask, What? Xavier would be looking down, away, wouldn't be able to look him in the eye. Please, he'd say, let me, please, and then—and then – 

“I have to—go,” Xavier says, and flees to his room. He hears Doug's “Bye, Xavier!” floating after him, confused but still happy. He slams the door behind him.

***

He’d be better, after, he thinks. He'd want to be good, to make Doug happy with him. He'd try to be good.

Doug would notice. He notices all of the good things about Xavier, not that there are many. Would he reward Xavier for being so good? (“You've been so good this week,” a proud smile, hand falling to the waistband of his pants – Xavier would fall to his knees and Doug would tell him how he'd been so good as he filled himself with Doug Doug Doug-) 

No. Doug wouldn't do anything else unless Xavier asked him too, friendly and so far away and he couldn't ask again, didn't know how he had the first time. It would just build up inside him until he was bursting inside with it, jittery, unfocused like he got sometimes when he was failing especially hard. Then Doug would come in the room – the hotel room, this is right before a game and Xavier is nervous, Doug’s just coming out of the shower and for all he's naked Xavier's the one falling apart – 

Then Xavier could go up to him, fall to his knees, close his eyes, put Dougie’s hand in his hair and open his mouth.

Dougie would say, “You want-?” still cautious, and Xavier would blurt out, “Please,” softer than he intended and so much more desperate. And Doug’s hand would tighten in his hair and he would start fucking Xavier's mouth, gently but firmly, like last time, (only in his fantasies would Doug want him like this more than once) leaving Xavier room to just be in that moment. Later, when Xavier was loose and spent at his feet, Doug would help Xavier up, help him get into bed, tuck him in, take care of him. Doug liked doing that, taking care of people.

So maybe this would become a way he took care of Xavier. Whenever Doug saw Xavier was too nervous, too far into his own head, he would tap him on the shoulder and Xavier would go down for him. In the kitchen. In the bar bathroom after a loss or a difficult win. Under the table at the bar, hearing snatches of drunken conversation as Doug’s hand slides him up and down his dick. In the hallway of the arena, fuck, without enough time for Xavier to get himself off afterwards. He'd have to play with a hardon, the taste of Doug’s come in his mouth and, double fuck, maybe watch Doug fight someone for him right after. Fuck. He'd be so hyped up he'd get to suck Doug off again immediately afterwards, blood and sweat barely dry on his skin. Xavier would probably come without touching himself.

***

Xavier really needed to stop having these fantasies about actual places, because now Doug has recovered enough to play again, so he travels with the team. So they have to share a hotel room.Once, for one faraway game, Doug comes out of the shower only wearing a towel around his hips. Xavier has to roll over onto his stomach, a frisson of want and shame going down his spine, because none of this is right, it's all fucked up as hell.

The thing is, when there's hockey, Doug's his. They're in each other's orbit. The thing is, when there's hockey, there is no choice but to be near each other.

When they're at the apartment, when he has a choice, more often than not he goes to see Eva.

Xavier is selfish. He schedules extra practices to teach Doug how to skate better, to keep him as his for longer. Doug smiles and thanks him for it, and he feels guilty.

***

Maybe if – when Xavier was being good for him, didn't need but wanted - if then in some hotel room Doug started quietly stroking himself off under the covers, if Xavier got out of his own bed and stumbled over to Doug's. If he crawled up the bed and whispered, “Please.” If Doug asked, “Why?” Xavier would be thankful that he couldn't see Doug’s face in the shifting half light of the anonymous city. He'd hang his head anyway. 

“Whenever – whenever you want,” he would say. Whenever you want me, he would mean. And Doug would want him, in this fantasy. Then in the dark hotel room, and later, first thing in the morning before his shower, in the apartment while playing video games, Xavier's car running off the track, fuck Xavier might have to buy knee pads, wear them under his pants so he could be ready whenever Doug wanted him. If Doug wanted him while they were on the bus, fuck, showing all those fuckers that someone wanted him, that he was owned. Claimed. Doug’s.

***

Eva has started staying over in Doug's bed. Sometimes Xavier can hear them fucking.

Eva's loud. It always sounds like she's having a really good time.

No matter how hard he listens through the wall, he can only hear Doug in the creak of bed springs and the thumps of the headboard. It drives him a little crazy.

Then he gets up early one morning and Eva's in the kitchen, naked, with a towel wrapped around her hair. There are bruises on her hips, light ones, but still noticeable against her pale skin. She's facing away from him. He leaves before she turns around.

He takes home a girl who's into anal, watches her get herself ready. After, when she's putting her clothes on, he asks.

“Does it hurt?”

She snorts. “Trust me, honey, I've had a lot more.” He rubs at the back of his neck, ducks his head as best he can lying on his bed.

“I mean, the. Um.” She looks at him, reconsiders. Looks away to search for her pants while she talks, which he's thankful for.

“I did myself first, with my fingers, and it didn't hurt really ‘cause I had a lot of time and a lot of lube and a picture in my head that really did it for me.” She smiles at him, and he knows she's not going to give him her number.

***

(If Doug wanted him as much as he did in his fantasy, maybe – maybe Xavier could convince him to fuck him. Pin him down with his strong arms and hips and fuck him. Facedown, so Doug could pretend he was a girl and Xavier could pretend he was what Doug wanted. Captured, trapped, protected, owned. Xavier could open himself up for Doug, make himself slick and warm and tight, easy to take, because there is no reason to want him but ease. Convenience. Status, maybe, but Doug doesn't care about that.

He'd be so easy for Doug, if Doug wanted him.)

***

He tries it one day, while Doug's fucking Eva at her place, and at first he goes too fast with not enough lube and it hurts, but then he stops, slows down. Imagines that Doug left him alone for a different reason, some errand that would take a few hours, said he'd be back tonight and he'd want to fuck Xavier, told him to be ready for him. Yeah.

So the next time it's slower, he builds up his nerve and tries to relax, uses way too much lube, and thinks about Doug, fucking him. That's why he's doing this, isn't he? So he’s prepared if Doug ever gets a head injury and wants to fuck him, if Doug ever crawls into Xavier's bed in the middle of the night, squeezes his hip to wake him up, whispers, can I fuck you? This is because Xavier wants Doug to want him, and he needs to be ready if Doug wants him, because if he isn't ready he might not want him anymore. He has to know how.

He opens himself up that night, thinking of getting fucked by Doug, three fingers pushing in and out of his ass, holding one of his legs up and open with his free hand, other leg straining as far as possible so that he can feel the burn where his groin meets his thigh.

He comes almost as soon as he lets go of his leg and gets a hand on his dick.

***

A fantasy, of course. He's not brave enough to do that in real life. He lets himself think about it now though, and sometimes presses a finger against his hole, dry, just pressure, right before he comes.

***

The whole team would knowknew. Some had heard him through the thin walls of the hotel room, begging in a mix of French and English for Doug to fuck him. They'd seen how Xavier's mouth was red and swollen more often than not, how his voice was hoarse. They knew, there were muttered comments just out of earshot, joking insults about being a cocksucker not really jokes anymore. They’d called him a bitch, they called him Dougie’s bitch.

“Ey, Dougie, your bitch is being bitchy today, you not fuck him hard enough last night or something?”

“Fucking A, LeFlemme, Glatt musta fucked you real good last night,”

“At least you have other talents to fall back on if you keep playing like you did tonight,”

The Russian twins made a sign, GLATTS BITCH, and taped it to his locker.

“It says you're Dougie's bitch!” 

“Yes, because you beg him to fuck you so hard, he fucks your mouth so you shut up!”

They laughed, overcome by their own humor. He ripped down the sign, cheeks burning.

Doug knew everybody knew, but didn’t think it was a big deal.

He pressed down on Xavier’s shoulder in the locker room once, and Xavier's eyes went wide.

“What – here?” he asked. 

Doug shrugged. “They all already know. Why not?” Xavier dropped to his knees.

Soon it was a regular sight in the locker room, Xavier on his knees for Dougie. They managed to keep Coach from seeing it for a week or two, but then he walked in when Xavier’s mouth was stretched around Doug’s dick before a game, Doug sitting on the bench with Xavier between his legs.

Xavier couldn't see him, but he could hear him say, “What the-?” He panicked, tried to pull away. Doug's hand held him in place, held him down, and all he could do was suck on his dick.

“You gave me this A, coach, it's about taking care of the team,” says Doug, calm.

“By making him blow you?” They talked over him, around him, like he wasn't even there or just didn't matter. Doug's hand flexed in his hair as he shrugged.

“He asked me, coach.”

“I guess as long as it doesn't interfere with the game.” Then Coach went over to curse out the Russians, and Dougie came in his mouth.

He got leered at now, when he trailed too far behind Doug, looked at in a way that made him duck his head and walk more quickly to catch up.

Doug fucked him in the showers once, after a game where Xavier scored an enormous number of goals and Doug fought an enormous number of people for him, blood leaking from his knuckles and running down Xavier’s hips. The guys took it as a matter of course, like it was expected, like they see their enforcer fucking their top goal scorer into the shower wall every day. Only the Captain commented on it, walking past after his own shower with a raised eyebrow and a deadpan, “Good job, eh?” Xavier, where he was panting against the wall, knew that the Captain is not talking to him, and he wasn’t only talking about the game.

Some of the third string players ask if Doug’s “lending out his piece of ass,” after, when Xavier was still leaning on Doug and woozy from the afterglow. Dougie looked blankly up at their leers. “No,” he says, flat and without thought, because Xavier belonged to Doug, and showing that to other people was just to show people what he has and they don't. Because he wanted Xavier, and he had him. Xavier leaned closer then, and Doug put a hand around his shoulders. Life was good.

***

Eva breaks up with Doug. 

Xavier doesn't know what to do.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment, constructive criticism is welcome!


End file.
